


Embrace No More

by TheArchein



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Character Growth, Gen, Post-Embrace the Void Ending (Hollow Knight)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-12-22 01:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21066392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArchein/pseuds/TheArchein
Summary: With the Pale light faded, the flame of its Burning rival has come snuffed from existence by the valiance of the Knight. Yet with the throne of light destroyed, darkness wells to usurp its position. Will contorted from original purpose, the Knight, alongside its now few siblings and friends, will themselves face the growing challenge of a new Lord in a changing realm.





	1. All Things Must End

**Author's Note:**

> Perspective will shift now and again, eliciting some overlap.

Light pierced through plumes of golden clouds, a glowing tint coloring the heavenly landscape. The decorative tips of Corinthian pillars sprang from still waters, their ornate structures tickling Heaven Itself. Silver-licked feathers twirled in a carefree dance, slipping between the flaxen gleam of ethereal dreamcatchers. An angelic tone sang quietly throughout the Home of the Gods, the collective of its denizens staring towards the blinding heavens in dumbfounded awe.

Deep into the columns of the cumuli, the holy hymn met discord in the screech of the God of Light. From the air were twelve, needle-like swords conjured, lying equidistant around the radial halos Her being emitted. Like a clock did She stand, each hour of time touched by Her power: She was eternal; She would not fail;

_I WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN._

In a volley did The Radiance fire Her swords towards the swift Cessel below, its cloaked, miniature figure dashing an undivinable pattern. Blade after blade did it sidestep. Like a ghost did its body cloak in an incorporeal, abyssal matter, pressing through divine swords completely unscathed. To the skies did it take, its glistening nail gripped out to its side. Pale wings sprouted from its back, its black feet sliding up the lengths of each piercing sword.

Before the Radiance hovered The Knight. Her glowing eyes stared into the black, hollow holes of Her adversary, spawn of Her two mortal enemies. She screamed: a yell of unbridled hatred, a shout of bitter contempt—a bellow of unfathomable fear.

Cut was Her voice by the Shriek of the Knight, powerful Wraiths tearing through the front of the moth. Its own strength tore at the Vessel before Her, slicing through the shell, through its physical form. From its Shade did the howling continue, growing in intensity, _growing in number._

Barbed tendrils pierced from the clouds of Void, gripping at Her feet. Consumed had the light been in a vacuum of shadow, engulfing the Godhome in its power. The Knight’s cry had not been another mere blow to the Radiance: _it was a call._

Into the floating pool did the Shade return, the single replaced by the collective. Focus had the Void attained through the prayers of the Godseekers, and from it arose the Lord of the Shades. The eight-eyed God of Gods gripped the tethered form of His ancient foe, His nails clawing into the face of the Forgotten One. Struggle She tried, Her tendrils futilely grasping at His oozing arm. Her resistance was met with a restraining hold. Tighter did the arms of Void pull at Her figure, the Radiance held in a cross-like form.

With one pull did the Shade Lord open Her face. There, in Her mind, did It lie: Essence, The Illness, The Burning Light—the heart of it all. With unyielding might did He tear at radiating light. Each swipe of His claws tore feathers and Essence alike from Her body, cries of harrowing pain sounding from the crowned moth. Unrelenting was the slashing by the God of Darkness as it gouged the life from His immortal rival. One, final cry did She emit, Essence pouring from Her body as She lifted Her head.

It was finished.

·

In the recesses of the Royal Waterways, tucked within the deep cavern of the Junk Pit, resting atop the garbage of the lost kingdom, the physical form of the Godtamer shook. Labored breaths gasped from her mask, her lungs filling with the black ooze of the Abyss. Streaks of Void seeped from her eyes, the shadowy fluid mixed with tears of fear, with tears of joy. Her goal was complete.

From her dissolved body sprang tendrils of the dark, flaying in each direction. Through the Godhome had the Lord of Shades bridged Dreams to Reality. His power was manifest, yet not whole. A grip had He taken into this realm, the one of the Pale being He vanquished before. The Burning Light, the Pale Light, both snuffed entirely—Darkness would usurp. Yet only a foothold did He have: a step forwards was necessary.

He could sense a creature nearby, cowered to the ground below it. The air about it tasted burning, scarlet: a creature of Nightmares. Winged it was—perhaps it could spread His Presence throughout Hallownest. Perhaps He could bridge into the beating Heart’s realm as well.

A tendril shot at the bat-like creature, hungering to feel His strength reign throughout the fallen kingdom. Yet something gripped its limb, the arm of Void held back a nail’s length from the scarlet flame.

Inside the collective conscious, within a sea of black, manifested the figure of a sole Shade. The one who had weakened the Light, the Knight itself, stared into the darkness. In turn did the Lord manifest Himself, towering over the single vessel.

_‘Why do you hold back? We are united, we are one,’_ voiced its Lord, the voice echoing not one, but many.

The Knight peered back. Void of communication, the Lord still understood its reply through the conscious’ collective.

_‘He is not one of Us. His will is not Ours, but Another’s. His sacrifice will grant Us strength.’_

Unwavering was the Knight. Yet why did it stand before its Lord—Void united, its Siblings as one? Pure it was not: it did not value itself above the others. Its path broke from the Pale King’s, and like many before had it been sealed in eternal darkness. To deviate from authority was not new.

It had will. A mind of its own, and an emboldened one at that. It chose to help the kingdom’s few denizens. It chose to follow its Gendered Sibling. It chose to spread the beauty of the pale flowers. It chose to dance with the Nightmare’s Troupe. It chose to break the cycle of containment. And it chose to defy the collective.

A will united had become divided.

_‘You bear that which unified Us, and now you turn against? Your will set this in motion, and you wish to cease? We are your Siblings. We are the Void. And you are but One.’_

From within the conscious did tensions boil, a drive halted by the same one who initiated. It given Form had challenged He given Focus.

·

Within the palm of the Knight’s nub-like hand rested a badge, a charm bearing the face of the scarlet flame. Forward did it move towards its companion, the Knight extending its arm to the Child of Grimm.

“Mmroow…me…” spoke Grimmchild, a small, jagged smile plastered on its face.

The child rubbed its head against the mask of the Knight, a deep affection for its partner, its master, its friend. Yet he knew something was off. The Knight seemed driven; its focus centered solely on the accomplishment of something. Whatever its intentions were, it had led them to this dripping, water-logged trench in the deepest parts of this faded kingdom.

The Knight, void of word, gave a gentle pat to the shoulder of the scarlet creature. It pointed to him, then to the ground beneath them. So, it wished for him to stay? Very well. Yet the child did harbor some questions: why give him the charm to hold?

With little in the way of communication, the Knight had turned towards the hunched, golden-masked bug before it. Dream Nail primed, his master disappeared into the depths of this being’s mind.

Hours passed, if not longer. The soft lull of waste-laden waves accompanied the occasional chitters and uttered prayers from the plump, hunchbacked Godseeker, the only noises sounding in the dreary darkness of refuse. Still, alert did the child of the Troupe remain, waiting fervently for the small figure of his wielder to reemerge.

Strained did the chittering grow, exhausted to the point of a muffled whine. Had this big one grown tired? The slit, ruby eyes of the Grimmchid narrowed to the shaking figure before him.

_What was that black substance dripping from her eyes?_

Pulses of shadowy energy rippled from her body. In an act terrifying even the being of Nightmare, her now blackened form burst into a violent frenzy of whipping arms. Each tendril sliced through the air, beating and tearing at its surroundings in a manic storm.

Grimmchild hissed at the parasitic creature, its ragged wings clutching the ground as its back arched. Rapidly did its scarlet heart pound, its eyes darting from tendril to tendril. Only instincts could it rely upon against this foreign creature of such screaming ferocity, alone in this ruined kingdom.

‘Where is my friend?’

He needed the Knight: he could not dance against this creature alone. Still child was he, still developing. Still one to cling to his partner in such a time of need.

A tentacle zipped forwards, screaming towards the child of flame. Fire burst from the Grimmchild’s mouth, its attack consumed into the emptiness of the creature. The Grimmchild cowered, head clutched to the ground for the inevitable.

Yet not did he feel the sting of the brute’s power, but a stillness in the air before him. Head lifted, Grimmchild came face to a lingering, yet motionless limb. An anterior tendril shifted to the other’s position; the two inched closer to the child. A hiss snarled at one as it gently wrapped against his wing, the bitter voicing softening as the tip of the other tendril pressed against its face. Tenderly did it rub its cheek, nudging against the Grimmchild’s head.

Into the Void did the stunned bat look. From the empty nothingness inside, convinced had he been in seeing the two eyes of the Knight—a faint, pale outline of its mask too. It was for but a moment, one that evaporated all too quickly.

Black tendrils released the Nightmare child, tearing back against the central body of Void. Lashing and scourging did the entity self-inflict, hollow screams filling the Junk Pit in a macabre choral. Grimmchild pressed his body away from the ground, its wings desperately pumping to carry him away.

Away from the Pit did the child fly. Away from the threat of blackened death. Away from the Void, away from his friend.


	2. The Hollow Knight

The entrance of the temple glowed with the light of dangling lanterns, the Lumafly captive within each flittering about aimlessly. Once pristine, a sickening air of orange malice fogged the narthex. Infectious vines gripped the walls of the shrine, their rotten fruit seeping viscous liquid. Bulbous orbs of the Illness laid scattered in the haze like rotten eggs, their spawn of sickness overcoming the once pristine façade of the central Black Egg.

The sacred Egg still held against the onslaught of disease. Its purpose now, though, served as nothing more than a decorative blockade to the external world: its mission to contain the spread of burning light ceased with the Dreamers. The masks upon the stone had, like their occupants, dissipated into nothingness. Only outlines remained.

There, on the right, did the spider’s eyes linger. She approached, fingers reaching to run down the smooth, grayed surface. Six bumps did she feel where the Beast’s mask once laid, her hand slowly slipping away from the ancient rock. The spider’s head sank towards the dusted floor, her palm clenched before her.

No, she had to remain strong. Her mother had chosen her own path; she would carry on the fight against the infernal spread. It was her duty as the princess-protector to safeguard the kingdom against any threat, no matter the cost. Nevertheless, this task required more than of what she was capable.

S_he could not do this alone._

Though once belligerent to Ghost, she had come to understand the Vessel. It accomplished swathes more than its siblings—herself included. To best her twice in combat and break the eternal seals was, after all, no small feat. Through her own failures in battle did she find strength: each encounter burned a renewed vigor within her fighting spirit.

This Vessel had returned life to an ailing kingdom.

With each spar had she mentally grown; too physically did the Knight. Minute as it was, she took note of the subtle growths in its horns from their first spar many weeks ago. Had she inherited the reigns of training the Vessel from her father?

A shame it was then, that this meeting would be their last.

Would it attempt to contain the Infection, in the place of its sibling? Feeble a task did it seem to her. She knew Ghost harbored flaws itself; little more would the specter do than continue a ceaseless cycle. For this reason, had she come: to offer another solution in vanquishing their enemy.

Yet the Knight was nowhere to be seen. Hours became days as she lingered about the defiled temple. Still, the phantom failed to appear. Had it put in all that work to simply cower at the eleventh hour?

The tension in her palm released, her fingers falling to her side. A rumbling trembled in the ground below, specks of oranged dust dancing against vibrations from the earth. Her vision fixated on the flecks; her gaze laid concentrated in thorough study of the dirt.

Had she gone mad?

The orange hue seemed to be…fading before her. Her head darted to the side: the orbs of pestilence were shriveling into a blackened dust. Vines brimming with blazing life withered instantaneously. She faced the temple’s wall, the heavy fog vanishing before her into breathable air. With the swiftness it had gripped the Crossroads did the Plague dissipate. Purity had returned to the temple.

But how?

So dumbfounded by the complete erasure of the Radiance’s touch was she that little notice did she take in the renewed vibrations against her feet. The rumbling had recommenced, though in far more a perceptible manner than before. Her gaze tilted to the left, the subtle rumbling growing in tone, accompanied by the surmised sounds of faint, rattling chains.

_She was not alone_.

From the lee of the Egg drew a sullen figure, its slouched body dirtied with the residual dust of a bygone era. A sole right arm gripped its fractured nail; a tarnished, dark-green garb hid its stolen sinistral appendage. Down its mask ran the crack of a fracture that broke against its right eye. The remains of an ancient steel chain wrapped against its shoulders; the culprit of the rattling heard before.

Hornet jerked her body around, her heart racing at the monster’s sight. Into its hollowed eyes did she stare, black droplets of ink dripping down the face of its mask. Needle gripped in her left, she primed herself to a defensive posture. A strand of silk swiveled its way about her, glowing in the pale illumination of the Lumafly.

Before her stood The Failed One. Vessel of Void, Vessel of Radiance.

Before her stood The Hollow Knight.

_And here she stood alone._

. 

Needle bolted through the air with a blistering whistle, its tip scraping the torn frills of the Hollow Knight’s garb.

The spider’s hands jerked the pale thread, the weapon screaming back to its owner. Her breathing was labored, her garment drenched with the perspiration of battle. Unfazed did her enemy seem by the close nick, their bleeding eyes still trained upon her figure.

A fool she was not: the sentinel understood that even with her elegance in battle, a Vessel trained of such caliber would decimate her. Attrition seemed the most suitable response, though impractical in their current state. Tendril after tendril had it launched after her, the strength of the Void coursing like thick blood through the Vessel’s form. She needed distance—she needed help.

The Hollow Knight’s body jerked, head lurching towards the ground. Beads of black splattered upon the stone pavement of the temple, seeping into the grey dust below. Tilting its mask back, a harrowing scream emanated from the monster. Hornet’s head dipped at the piercing screech; her body braced against the deafening tone. Several times had she heard that yell, yet never in such a petrifying voice. Guttural it was, layered with the dissonance not of a sole being, but that of a chaotic choir. Its head jolted to face her again, that singular arm raising its dilapidated nail from the earth.

The sheer breadth of its swing forced a parry from the sentinel. Successful in preventing a fatal slice, the inertia from the blow cast her body skywards. Hornet’s form tumbled against the floor of the narthex, dust graying her bright red garment. Bitter coughs choked out from the spider, her thorax rising steadily from the ground. A palm gripped the ring of her needle as she pulled herself back up, ready again to fight the Vessel. A shadowy hue overtook its figure, the monster dematerializing before her: little respite would she be given.

Behind her did it reform, a slicing tentacle of Void tearing from the nub of its torn limb. Instinctively did a silken thread weave around her, the pale string challenging the murky arm.

“Haaa!”

In each attempt to pierce the Gossamer Storm did the Voiden Tendrils find themselves shredded to minute, gaseous black spheres. A minor victory had the spider accomplished in a perpetually back footed war. 

. 

Globs of inky fluid shot from the stub of the Hollow Knight’s arm, its attack drenching the surrounding vicinity in increasingly viscous Void. More of His matter had it spread against the ground, a tool for the Vessel against this nimble arachnid. Though the blazing light and orange rust had tarnished its Pale form, the Hollow Knight found renewed strength through His collective.

Yes, it too had felt the pull of the Lord. It felt the draw to its siblings, the unification of the Void. Freedom from the Burning Light had merely crafted a vacancy for a new host, one bent on expanding its domain throughout the broken kingdom. Why resist its reign?

Another swipe of its cracked nail, the spider leaping back in turn.

Too fractured was it. Too torn from the pain of the Radiance: the Vessel was a shell of the insurmountable glory it once held. Too torn from the pain of the King: the Vessel was a failure to the one it loved most.

More sluggish had its movement become, more intense the seeping of the murky ooze.

Where else to turn but the Void? It was a Vessel, a construct with a duty fulfilled by another. It had no purpose; the Radiance was gone. Its siblings held the keys to a new era, why not follow in their initiative? Perhaps it could rectify its failure by assisting the new Lord, a new king.

A strand of silk gripped the Vessel’s leg, its body forced to a halt.

All this failure from a thought. _A single thought_. Even with that blazing illness vanquished did those images still burn through its mind. How close had they become, the father and the child? So much it had given for the King—so much, in turn, the King gave back.

She approached, close enough for a lurch of the tendrils to knock her off balance. Two of them gripped against her limbs, pulling her forward to the Hollow Knight. She struggled, the Void tightening a fearsome hold against the pesky arachnid.

Lively memories brimmed into its mind, clashing against the Void’s whispers of death, urges to snuff the life from this nuisance of a creature. The Vessel remembered the beaming swords of light its father made manifest before it, more brilliantly bright than the Palace itself. It reminisced on the soft lullabies the Queen sang, a respite to the suffering each faced. And it recollected the presentation of the Beast’s child to its grown, Pure form: a child filled with an impossible amount of life for such a small form, a child destined to be both princess of the Den and one to the Kingdom.

The mental fog of darkness lifted, leaving before it the image of Hornet. How old had its sister grown, how long since then? The Hollow Knight’s arm reached out, her head jerking to the side. With a gentle touch, its palm rested upon the side of her mask. The air of the temple grew still, the sole noise the subtle pitter-patter of ink-like tears against the ground.

How truly incomplete it was. How impure, how un-hollow had this Vessel been.

No mind to think and yet it remembered.  
No voice to cry and yet it wept.

The Hollow Knight clenched its hand against the tendrils, tearing its sharp fingers against the hostile arms. It turned on itself, against the surging influence of the Void. It cared not of the aspirations of the Lord: it wanted its father; it wanted the life it once had. It so desperately clung to that idea which had crumbled the kingdom, that which blossomed and broke its mind—that which now burned against the raging of the Void.

The brief release was all Hornet needed to pull herself from the broken knight. She hesitated not, her silk whipping about the Vessel clawing at its own form. Thread after thread she spooled out, winding against the Hollow Knight’s body. Sturdy as it was, the internal struggle of the broken knight created its own obstacle.

Yet, slowly, the Vessel calmed.

Its limbs laid strung to the floor; the Vessel knelt as its body panted lightly. The Void spewed before sank into the crevices of the temple floor. The Hollow Knight’s face, once flooded with murky tears, cleared to reveal its dirtied, egg-shell white color. The holes of its mask stared at its sister not with murderous intent, but with a grave, ancient pain.

Cautious the spider remained, unwilling to break gaze from her adversary. She knew not the intentions of the Vessel, of the Void that tore from it—of the Void it tore against. What had happened, to cause this once Pure Vessel to now inflict such self-harm? How could a Vessel crafted to alleged perfection have such cracks, such flaws?

Time dragged between them, a still calm at the end of the storm. A step closer did Hornet approach, her nail fiercely held beside her. Another step, then another. Her last strand of silk trailed upon the floor below, the once pristine surface speckled with dirt. Over the mask of the Vessel did she stand, looking down upon the Hollow Knight.

“…sibling,” she uttered, plucking the silk from her nail.

Raising its head, the Hollow Knight felt the touch of silk upon its fractured mask, a gentle wrapping of the dusted thread against its shattered face. It felt not the searing of the Radiance, nor the cold bitterness of the Lord: it only felt the delicate warmth of its sister. In her could it see the enduring paleness of his father; through her could it once again embrace that idea of its past.

There would be only one King for it—and the Lord was not He.

. 

From the temple did Hornet emerge, upon the Crossroads so barren of life. She was exasperated, weary from the gone-by days. Numerous chances did the Hollow Knight have to escape, numerous others to turn against her, yet it kept in the place dictated by its sister. She had found communication to be excessively difficult, especially to a being without voice and a still shattered mind.

From the few shakes of its head did she pry that the Radiance had ceased, that She truly had been vanquished.

Immediately her mind fell to Ghost, the only being with a will strong enough to purge the plague from this land. Yet how was such a task possible? The Egg still held; entry without its fracture would have been inconceivable without the teleportative skills of the Hollow Knight.

Perhaps there was another way. Was that not the reason she too had come?

She released a faint sigh, the princess-protector leaning upon her steadfast needle. Over much did her mind ruminate: What came next? What did the future hold for the ruins of her kingdom? Would time consume it, or pale light reclaim its throne?

_Where was Ghost?_

Drawing her weapon from the earth, the spider walked before the Temple of the Egg. She could not simply leave in search of the Vessel—another required her current attention. The stability of the Hollow Knight was still in question: answers more would she need to pry from the knight.

A distant noise broke the deathly silence of the Crossroads, her pondering halted at the change of the soundscape. Just perceptible enough was it, the noise of faint, frantic flapping from a distance overhead. Hornet focused her vision skywards, the creature’s outline caught in the subtle blue glow of light. Nothing like the kingdom’s inhabitants did it resemble—no, its appearance was foreign, bat-like—

_The Grimmchild._

Back did she pull her needle, steadying it at the target above. With a precisely angled toss, her arm nicked the wing of the Grimmchild, the Nightmare creature plummeting with a shrill cry. Arms extended, the spider grabbed her prey, the frantic bat pale in her arms. It struggled in her grip, too exerted, too defensive to recognize the creature before it.

“Grimmchild—halt,” she hissed, extending his wings out.

Drained was the Nightmare’s Vessel, of energy and color. His heart barely kept contained in his small figure, his mouth heaving each gasp of air it could grasp. How long had he fled? How long without rest?

With each wriggle did Hornet pressure the child, forcing the bat to relax in her grip. About his neck did she spy a pendant, a small charm dangling close to its chest. Ghost had wielded it before, and through each time had this child been summoned.

Yet, Ghost was not here.

The state of the Grimmchild only drew more concern from Hornet. To bestow upon the child its own charm, to have the child, in turn, flee in such hurry—only bitter conclusions could she draw. Yet little did such thoughts give in the way of concrete explanations.

“Child of Grimm, ease yourself. I’m not here to inflict pain—only the truth of what has happened do I seek,” she voiced.

Grimmchild stared uneasily, body struggling to remain upright.

“Master…friend…n-nyah…disappear…” he shakily responded, barely able to speak coherently.

“’Disappear’? Child, what more can you draw? Tell me at once!”

Depraved of rest and burdened of terror, the Grimmchild panted a few more beaten breaths. A subtle stream of tears drew from its slit, scarlet eyes, the child’s head sinking as it surrendered consciousness.

Hornet stared at the creature, limp in her outstretched arms. Its scarlet heart still beat within the slim framework of its body—it too would need time to recover. She knew she could not expect much from a child, let alone without Ghost by its side; yet the desire to know of her sibling’s plight drew such demanding a tone from her.

A minor tinge of guilt tugged at her mind, the spider pulling the bat closer to her figure. Two fractured Vessels, and nary a direction to lead them. Rest, however, held more importance. Dirtmouth could offer the sanctuary in which to recuperate, perhaps even the opportunity to draw more answers from the Vessels.

With child in arms, Hornet turned to face the Temple. Then so it would be: the trio would head to Dirtmouth.


End file.
